


you got all the strings (tug ‘em)

by nyctophilic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Blowjobs, Chef Niall, Gemma Styles & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, M/M, Rich Harry, Slow Dancing, Wedding Planning, flowerist Liam, gemma is definitely onto them, is that harry is a pretty little shit, louis can't get enough of him, okay so honestly all you need to know, so there's that, theres a blowjobs on pool tables, wedding planner louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyctophilic/pseuds/nyctophilic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is Gemma's wedding planner, Harry's bound to make Louis lose his mind, Liam owns a flower shop, Niall runs a posh restaurant he keeps calling "Horan's Horny Tavern" and all in all, Louis knew he was fucked from the moment he saw Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got all the strings (tug ‘em)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loutwix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loutwix/gifts).



> This was originally meant to be +60K, but I got a job at the last minute and had to write this fic in just a few days. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless, because I definitely enjoyed writing it.

****

 

“Do you think the train is too long?”

 

Gemma was twisting and curling in what had to be the 27th dress she’d put on, in an attempt to get a better look at the crisp white train that was laid out on the floor behind her. It was a beautiful gown, really: while the corset was layered with both satin and silk, everything from the waist down was hand appliqué chantilly lace. There were strings of teardrop crystals draped over the open back and silk organza flowers sown in the train that reached nearly 10 foot behind her. She looked like a goddess, someone who could take over the world – no, someone who already _had_ the world at her feet.

 

“It’s too long, isn’t it?”

 

She sighed deeply, her hands sliding down the two thin rows of diamonds carved in the sides of her corset. This wouldn’t be the dress, either.

 

“They can always adjust it,” Louis told her either way. “If you like everything but the length of the train, then we can change that. Honestly love, you look stunning.”

 

“That’s the problem,” Gemma mumbled, blowing a loose strand of peach-coloured hair out of her face. “They’re all stunning, they’re all beautiful, and I may look ‘good’ in all of them, but… There’s just always something missing.” She gave herself one last once-over in the eight-foot mirror before turning around at her wedding planner, who was comfortably seated in the white leather fauteuil, one leg resting atop of the other.

 

“It’s not The Dress, Lou,” Gemma murmured. “It’s just not.”

 

Honestly, Louis had seen this one coming. Gemma might have been an amazing girl, and indeed the “bright and witty and amazing lass” Louis’ mother had described her as when she practically forced Louis into becoming her wedding planner – but none of that mattered. Because regardless of how amazing these brides were, they all turned into enormous wrecks during the preparations for the Big Day. The venue was never authentic enough, the dress wasn’t special enough, the guest list was too short or too long, the flowers weren’t fitting for the theme, and eventually the wedding planner was shipped off to hospital with a Xanax overdose.

 

Not Louis, though.

 

There was a reason he’d become one of the best in doing what he does: he’d always just _known_ how and when and why everything in his life would happen. As a kid, he’d drawn a timeline on his bedroom wall, paired with pictograms that were meant to symbolise all the major happenings in his life yet to come. He might have been only eight - old enough to know you’re _not_ supposed to draw on walls and yet too young to know what his purpose in life would be - but nevertheless, he’d proudly dragged his mum to his room to show off his pretty drawings. A graduation hat, two men dressed in black and white, an identical copy of their own house, and a drawing of his two sisters Lottie and Fizzy (or at least, that’s what his mother assumed the two enormous alien heads were supposed to symbolise). “In that order, mum,” he’d said. “Just like that.”

 

All the way through his childhood, he’d remained just that: calculated, confident and up for any type of fun that would get him into massive trouble. He graduated _maxima_ cum laude because well, he _could_ , and soon after even opened up his own business. Louis had everything just like he’d always imagined it like, and it motivated him to help people reach that point of satisfaction. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

 

“This dress would be an excellent choice,” the assistant chirped in, stepping closer to the foot piece Gemma was standing on, a big and artificial smile plastered all over her face.

 

“It would indeed,” Louis hummed, “but she doesn’t like it.”

 

The artificial smile cracked – it was a slight tug downwards of one of the mouth corners, something one could easily miss, but Louis didn’t.

 

“But of course,” she nodded. “I’ll go get the bride some more options. Would she like to join me?”

 

Louis shook his head. “It’s okay, we trust your judgement.”

 

It was a casual way of dismissing her – not necessarily polite, but it was obvious enough. And the second the assistant left the room, Louis hopped on the foot piece – careful not to step on the train – and put his hands on Gemma’s bare shoulders carefully. Her small body was trembling.

 

“You don’t have to worry,” he told her softly, locking eyes in their mirror reflection. “I know it’s scary, and I know you want to get everything right. But stressing about it so badly that you can’t stop shaking isn’t healthy. I’m here for a reason, remember? I’m here to grant all your wishes – like a personal fairy godparent. I’m Cosmo 2.0, but then minus the green hair.” He gave her a encouraging squeeze before taking a step back. “And do you want a little bit of advice for your fairy godparent?”

 

Gemma turned her hair to the side and offered him a shaky smile. “Shoot.”

 

“You’re looking for the wrong dress. You’re not a one inch nails, twenty-inch extensions kind of woman. So why try all these extravagant dresses? Stop looking for something that is meant to make you look good, and just pick a dress that will make you _feel_ good.”

 

It became quiet after that, the only sound in the fitting area being the nearly muted mumbling of customers roaming around in the front of the shop. She seemed to be pondering, carefully weighing down the words Louis had just spilled.

 

“Maybe you’re right.”

 

Louis tried his best not to roll his eyes. _Of course_ he was right. He built an entire career based on how right he was all the time – but he didn’t say that out loud. Gemma was just starting to gain colour again in her face, the wrinkles in her forehead starting to fade ever so slightly. Finally, she was starting to look like the 26-year-old young woman she was instead of a 43-year-old soccer mum that couldn’t find the spare bottle of gin she’d hidden in the back of her mini-van.

 

So instead, Louis just reached for her hand to guide her off the platform and into her dressing room.

 

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in three seconds.”

 

With those words and with hasty steps, he rushed into the shop, smoothing his shirt down and heading straight to the racks in the storage he knew would be his saviour.

 

Gemma was different, but she was simple. Maybe she was different _because_ she was simple. Either way, the classic crisp white dress with the lace train and stone-covered corset wasn’t going to do its thing in this case – that much was clear. So Louis had to try alternatives, play a few tricks he’d been saving up his sleeve for a while now. One of those happened to be a very special dress.

 

He’d come across it about a year ago. His client at the time – a Bridezilla like he’d never come across before – insisted they showed her every single dress in the boutique. She was picky, she was selfish, and when Louis had come across this one particular dress, he’d decided that she simply wasn’t _worthy_ of it. So he bought it with his own money and told the manager to keep in stock for him until the day a worthy bride came along.

 

Louis decided Gemma was worthy.

 

With soft hands and slow movements, he carried the neatly packed dress back to the dressing room, careful to not let the fabric drag over the floor. He hung the garment bag up, neatly hooking it behind the mirror and then knocked on Gemma’s door.

 

“Can you come out, love?”

 

Louis heard some shuffling and hasty cussing before the door opened and Gemma stepped out. She’d changed into her own clothes again, feet bare and hair in a loose ponytail.

 

“Listen, Louis,” she started, “maybe we should just come ba-“

 

Louis shook his head, interrupting her immediately when hearing the defeat in her tone. Taking a graceful step backwards, he raised one hand to draw attention to the garment bag.

 

“Unzip it,” he ordered, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

Gemma gave him a weary once-over, frowning slightly before obeying and moving towards the bag to unzip it.

 

“Oh God…”

 

As soon as the garment bag dropped to the floor, Gemma’s hands were clasped around her widely opened mouth in an attempt to hold back a shriek.

 

“Louis, this is…”

 

With trembling hands, she reached out to touch the fabric of the wedding gown.

 

It was a mermaid Amelia Sposa, with a silken underlay in champagne gold that made the exquisite laces stand out and shine even more profoundly. The cap sleeves were richly decorated with embroidered flowers – a pattern that spread widely and diminuend in density the lower it reached under the scalloped neckline. It screamed simplicity in a way that it didn’t appear bombastic from several feet away, but it was unique and so sophisticated up close at the same time that it became a dress impossible to forget.

 

“Try it on,” Louis whispered encouragingly, before walking up to the dress and unhooking it.

 

“Let’s see how it look on you,” he smiled, laying the fabric down carefully in Gemma’s spread arms. “C’mon, hop hop.”

 

The young lady looked down at the dress once more before shooting Louis a genuine grin and disappearing into the small dressing room. Louis took the moment to sit down again in one of the leather fauteuils, leaning back with closed eyes and letting out a satisfied sigh. He was doing this right.

 

When Gemma walked out again, she was slightly holding up the front of her dress so she wouldn’t step on it as she walked forward slowly, resembling a royalty at the top of the stairs during a winter ball. She’d finally let her hair down, having it flow down her shoulder in loose waves and matching the warm colours of her gown. The dress clung onto her body like second skin, the diamonds being reflected magically by the dim ceiling lights. Everything about her screamed both elegance and power, a combination that would easily leave one speechless.

 

Louis was about to open his mouth, but then someone beat him to it.

 

“Who turned my princess of a sister into a queen?”

 

Louis whipped his head to the side incredibly fast, ready to scold at whoever had entered the room because this was a _private fitting_ , but – fuck. Fucking hell.

 

There, in the door opening, stood what probably was nothing less but then the new face of Yves Saint Laurent. A tall young man with legs for miles and shoulders so broad you could safely balance your entire granny’s porcelain on them. He was all clean cut lines – from his shoulders to his legs to his chiselled jawline and cheekbones to his straight nose and eyebrows. Louis couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by how filthy and clean he looked at the same time. He could smell the cologne on him from several feet away, could spot the unshaved yet only slightly visible scruff the man was wearing, but what truly drew his attention were the undone buttons of his obscene black and red shirt, exposing the upper part of his chest nearly completely. There were two tiny chains hanging down from his neck and silver rings shoved on nearly every single one of his slender hands. Louis couldn’t believe this man was real – from head to toe, from his unruly and slightly curly hair that was messily combed back with his hands to the black suede boots with golden heels. This guy was a dream.

 

“Harry!”

 

He also appeared to be Gemma’s brother.

 

The demigod – Harry – walked up to his sister with an enormous grin spread over his perfect face and his large hands reaching out for her, not noticing Louis at all. She carefully moved into his arms, not wanting to damage her dress, before holding him tightly.

 

“I didn’t know you were back in the UK,” she murmured into his chest, only to take a step back so she could look up at his face. He was a head taller than her, despite the fact she was wearing heels.

 

“I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“You surely did. And you got a tan,” she pointed out, before ruffling through his hair teasingly. “Looks very posh. Nice change compared to the usual milk bag look.”

 

He placed a hand on his chest – _bare_ chest, keep in mind – and faked a hurt expression.

 

“You wound me, Gemma. Marriage has already turned you bitter and you’re not even _married_ yet.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue and picking up her dress so she could climb back up on the foot piece.

 

Harry ignored the immature gesture, dropping his stare to her gown instead. “Now, show me what you’re wearing,” he demanded. “Is this The Dress?”

 

A voice that hoarse and deep should be illegal. Louis could feel himself melting and slipping through the cracks of the fauteuil. He was done for. It was game over.

 

Gemma nodded, short but surely. “This is the one, little brother. This is it.” The pink tint had returned to her pale face, her cheeks blossoming again and eyes regaining that vivid spark. Louis could see the tension ebb out of her body as she twirled around, asking Harry to touch the fabric and check the train. He’d honestly done a good job at this. No dress would have fit her like this one.

 

“I was so close to giving up, Curly. I think I tried nearly every dress in this boutique but then Louis just came up to me with this one and – just _look_ at it. I feel magical.”

 

“It’s because you _are_ magical,” Louis slid into the conversation.

 

Harry turned his head towards him suddenly, as if he realised someone else was in the room just then (which probably was the case). For an eternal second, their eyes locked and Louis was sucked into a world of green and gold that made him combust on the inside. Then, Harry moved his eyes away, racking them up and down Louis body a few times. Louis was very aware of his posture right then – of his dark blue Hugo Boss suit, his hair all slicked back, the already-appearing-stubble (even though he’d shaved just that morning) – but he didn’t mind. Louis knew what he looked like. And he liked it. And to be fair, judging by the way one of Harry’s mouth corners curled up into a mischievous smirk, he felt quite tempted to believe that Harry did too.

 

 “You must be Louis Tomlinson,” the Styles son said slowly, an unidentified glint in his eyes, “the wonder wedding planner that has prevented my sister of having about three mental breakdowns so far.”

 

He released her arm from his loose grip and walked up to Louis, who got up out of his seat to shake the man’s hand. Much to his surprise, Harry went in for a kiss on the cheek, ducking down slightly to reach Louis’ level, one hand placed on his shoulder to balance himself.

 

“And you must be Harry Styles,” Louis returned. “Owner of one of UK’s most successful record labels and, more importantly, brother to the bride. It’s nice meeting you.”

 

The proximity made Louis’ skin burn and pulse quicken, because _fuck_ it’d been a while since he’d even platonically touched someone that attractive, but he managed to keep his voice steady and calm.

 

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

There was something about how Harry dragged those words out, leaving them open for interpretation as if there was more to it than it just being a formality. Louis wondered wondered just _what_ he’d heard. But then, too overwhelmed by the smell of expensive cologne and mint chewing gum, he bluntly responded with: “Wish I’d heard more about you, though.”

 

Harry’s nose scrunched up at that, lips pressed together in an attempt to keep a straight face to match his cool demeanour.

 

“We can fix that.”

 

Gemma snapped her fingers. “There’s a bride wanting to be told how great she looks in her dress right here, boys. Focus, please.”

 

The two men simultaneously let out an amused chuckle, attention being drawn back to the girl in the champagne dress.

 

“Thank God mum isn’t here or she would have bawled her eyes out.”

 

Gemma scoffed at that, picking up the front of her gown to inspect her shoes.

 

“It’s already bad enough that she’s going to be there for the bridesmaids’ fitting, I think I’m going to spend more on her tissues than this bloody dress.”

 

Louis doubted that. The dress was _fucking_ expensive after all. But apparently the Styles family didn’t mind. Did Louis mention Anne owned a cosmetics line? That Gemma was a scientific researcher at Cambridge? And that _apparently_ , Harry fucking-hottie Styles owned the record label no one less but Zayn was signed to? These people shat money. Loads of money.

Harry laughed. “That’s no problem at all, sis. Some things are just worth the hassle.”

 

Louis sighed inwardly. Of course.

 

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

 

With that, the next few weeks flew by at an excruciatingly fast pace. There was still so much left to do, especially with the wedding date approaching insanely fast. Louis didn’t understand why in God’s name Gemma and Jeremy had chosen a date this soon – it was just a beg for chaos, wasn’t it? But luckily for them, they had Louis. If there was one thing Louis could do well, it was solving problems. Whether it was last-minute booking the most impressive venues, picking out the most beautiful flowers, helping people sort out the guest list and seating plan without any of them getting into an argument – time after time, Louis did the most amazing job at preparing unforgettable weddings.

 

Unfortunately, there was one problem that Louis couldn’t face, let alone solve. And that problem went by the name of Harry fucking Styles.

 

That one time when he was out picking a church for the ceremony with Jeremy, Harry had showed up 10 minutes late with his hair all tousled by the wind and his white shirt so ridiculously lowly unbuttoned that Louis was forced to keep a straight face while talking to the pastor, while in reality all he could really think of was doing dirty things to Harry his nipples. The boy was a living sin: the way he’d sit down on the front row bench, one leg resting atop of the other, biting his thumb at Louis while he, the poor wedding planner, was simply just trying to get everything right for Gemma’s birthday. It was obscene, Harry Styles as a whole was just obscene. He didn’t need him biting his thumb and spreading his legs and licking his pink lips atop of that. It was rude. And then when the pastor laid down an album filled with pictures of weddings ceremonies that had previously taken place there for Louis and Jeremy to see, Harry suddenly appeared behind Louis, bending over him so he could take a look over Louis’ shoulder. Louis’ breath got stuck in his throat as he let out a silent gasp, his body tingling because of the unexpected physical contact. He could feel Harry’s skin burn against the fabric of his suit, and he could feel Jeremy’s pointed look when he shuffled forward a bit in an attempt break the contact. He could have sworn he’d heard Harry chuckle. Which – rude. So rude. How much did you possibly have to hate someone to curse then with a boner while in the presence of a pastor? Harry Styles was a horrible person, really. ~~Horribly delicious.~~

 

It was nothing compared to picking flowers, though.

 

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

 

“Jeremy was one big dork,” Gemma laughed, swiftly moving to the left of the sidewalk to dodge a kid running in the opposite direction. He had a scarf tightly wrapped around half his face and a beanie pulled down ‘til under his eyebrows to protect himself from the cold. Louis wondered how the kid could breathe, let alone let out such a loud warrior scream. Soon after, two other kids followed up behind him, nearly running Louis over entirely. They had several snow balls loaded into their tiny arms, their boots making both squeaky and crunchy noises as they raced through the dirty snow. Yes, indeed, just their luck: the wedding was three weeks away and last night they’d received an enormous load of snow. It was ironic, going to pick flowers with such weather, but Gemma didn’t appear to be fazed at all. With a red nose a huge bonnet atop of her head, she rambled and rambled about how Jeremy and her had met, an enormous grin plastered all over her frozen face.

 

“I mean, I’d always thought he was cute, but above all he’d just been a classmate, you know? We talked from time to time and he always complimented my hair when I changed colours, but it’d been just _that_. He doesn’t drink alcohol and I already had enough events to attend thanks to my mum and little brother, so I never felt like wasting my few peaceful nights on one of those college parties, and so we didn’t really get to see each other much outside of classes. But, I would get to see him in the library from time to time. And after a while, we’d figured out each other’s schedules and we’d always go to the library if we knew the other was going to be there as well – not that we would ever admit that. Now, we both had our usual spot, and then one day I walked into the library and he wasn’t there. But I find a book on my spot with a tiny blue post-it that had my name on it. And I was, like, I was confused. But I just started reading the book and then half-way through I noticed someone’d stuck an even tinier post-it on a certain page, telling me “blue hair suited me very well”. And I knew it was him, and it was so _ridiculous_ , but I smiled that entire day, Louis. I felt 14 years old again. So the next day, I left a book on his spot, with a note that said that he looked cute in his new glasses and that was the beginning of everything.”

 

Louis pushed open the door to the flower shop and took a step to the side so Gemma could walk in. She smiled at him thankfully, wiping her soles on the doormat and pulling off her gloves as Louis closed the door behind them, causing a tiny bell to chime.

 

“It all just happened, you know?” she smiled at Louis, her face red because of the cold. “Some things just happen.”

 

“Hey Liam, do you think these flowers match my sh- Oh, hi.”

 

Louis knew he was doomed before he even spotted him.

 

There he was, no one less but Harry, although his usual attire had been replaced for something rather casual. No silk shirts and bird patterns and overly exposed skin. Instead, he was wearing a cashmere lavender shirt with his sleeves all rolled up to his elbows. He’d changed his brown boots for silver glittery ones, and his long curls were hidden underneath a grey beanie. No obscenity, no extravagant outfit. It was just… cosy winter Harry. Cute, cuddly Harry. Low-key domestic Harry.

 

(Louis wanted to shoot himself in the foot.)

 

“Harry, you’re here!” Gemma cheered, running up to him to hug him tightly. The boy frowned, looking down at his flowers in confusion before being squeezed to mush by his big sister.

 

“You’ve sandwiched my flowers.”

 

Gemma took a step back, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Wonderful to see you too, Haz. Always a joy.”

 

The morbidity in Gemma’s voice got Louis to snicker, involuntarily drawing attention to himself. That’s when Harry’s eyes met Louis’ and a huge grin spread over his face. “Louis.”

 

Louis smiled back. “Harry. Didn’t know you were going to be here today.”

 

Louis could feel the cold leaving his body, could feel the tip of his fingers defrost and the redness in his face retreat. He wasn’t quite sure why.

 

“Neither did I,” Harry admitted. “Gemma invited me very last minute. Apparently she highly values my excellent taste in flowers.”

 

“Oh, does she now?” Louis cocked an eyebrow at the bride-to-be, who innocently smiled back.

 

“Harry, could you please put ba- Oh, will you look at that.”

 

Liam cut himself off in the middle of his sentence, puppy-eyes wide in surprise as he laid down the wreath he was holding on the counter and walked up Gemma so he could kiss both of her cheeks.

 

“I’m Liam,” he introduced himself. “You must be Gemma. It’s really nice to finally meet you, love.”

 

“I hope Harry hasn’t been badmouthing me all too much,” she jokingly said, although the glare she shot her brother kind of contradicted that “jokingly” part. Harry appeared unfazed – the same beam of sunshine as always.

 

Then Liam moved to Louis to envelop him in a big hug. Louis returned it willingly, surprised by how Liam didn’t seem to mind how humid and cold Louis’ coat was.

 

“Haven’t seen you in a while, mate!” Liam spoke, patting Louis’ back. “How have you been?”

 

Louis rubbed Liam’s back before letting go of him and unbuttoning his coat. “I’ve been well, but not as well as you, I see. Jesus, did you get broader?”

 

Liam flashed him a proud and toothy grin, his tiny eyes squeezing shut like puppies do when they get a pet on the head.

 

I’ve been working out, yeah,” he admitted. “Got some free time on my hands lately, so why not?”

 

“Yeah, right,” Harry snorted. “If that’s what you want to call stalking Zayn at the gym whenever you can.”

 

Liam fished a gardening glove from the front of his black apron and threw it against the curly guy’s chest. It made a flopping sound before falling at his feet.

 

“It’s not _stalking_ ,” he exclaimed defensively. “It’s… passionately observing.”

 

Harry just nodded his head a few times, not buying it at all. “You know I got him on speed dial, right? Say the magic word and his number yours.”

 

 “Harry.” Gemma’s voice was pointed.

 

“Zayn is a sucker for white roses, by the way,” he continued merciless. “Send him a hundred of those and you’ll have him wooed instantly. Trust me, I’m his best friend. I’m supposed to know these things. It’s bro code.”

 

“You go to the gym just to run into Zayn?” Louis asked Liam, raising an eyebrow at him in amusement.

 

“You don’t know what he looks like when he’s sweating on a treadmill,” Liam grumbled. “You’re not in the position to judge.”

 

“No one’s judging you,” Gemma smiled at him. “After all, Harry only got Zayn to sign to his record label after three drunken shags and twelve pound of Belgian chocolates.”

 

An exaggerated gasp escaped Harry’s lips as he pressed his hands against his chest, offended. “Gemma!” he barked.

 

She just shrugged at him. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

 

Liam put his hands over his ears and walked to the back of the shop. “Everybody, let’s talk about flowers and weddings and the cinnamon cookies I got in the oven,” he shouted. “I don’t want to hear another word about Harry’s sex life.”

 

Gemma just giggled, hanging her coat on the stand next to the counter before following after Liam happily. Louis followed suit, but he couldn’t resist glancing at Harry as he walked past him.

 

“I didn’t know Liam and you were friends,” he stated.

 

Harry shrugged. “I order my flower crowns here. No one makes them like Liam does.”

 

And okay – flower crowns. Louis didn’t see that one coming. But… okay. Why not. He bet Harry looked fucking attractive when _only_ wearing a flower crown. Imagine playing quoits with those crowns, aiming them at Harry’s d-

 

_Enough,_ Louis. For fuck’s sake.

 

“I also didn’t know you slept your way to the top, Styles,” he then added, keeping his tone matter-of-factly.

 

Harry licked the red flesh of his lips, pursing them before shooting back: “Well, I’m not picky. Bottom works just as fine for me as well.”

 

Louis stopped in the middle of his tracks, nearly kicking over pot containing a baby bonsai tree. Harry did _not_ just –

 

“You coming, Lou?” Harry asked innocently. _Lou._ That nickname just messed Louis up even more. “Some people don’t like to be kept waiting.”

 

“The day I get my hands on you, you fucking little -” Louis cursed under his breath.

 

“- What?”

 

“Nothing,” Louis smiled, pretending he wasn’t just thinking about how Harry’s face would look when denying him his orgasm. Would he plea? Would he cuss? Would be beg and cry? “Now keep walking, Del Rey. We haven’t got all day.”

 

Liam was already waiting for them in the backroom – which was basically a completely new room at the back of the shop where he stocked bigger deliveries (for example, the 2,000 peonies Louis spontaneously needed about a month ago). It was cosy, with low ceilings and both wooden floors and walls – one of those walls nearly entirely covered in ivy.

 

Liam went straight to business and started discussing flower combinations and colour schemes and table pieces with the three of them. Louis informed him on the wedding theme and clearly explained how much they needed of every thing and what the total budget was. It was mostly Gemma doing all the picking and mixing and matching – Louis was there to keep the money pot safe, and Harry… Well, when Gemma and Liam starting discussing the bouquet, Harry used the opportunity to shuffle closer to Louis.

 

“Hey, pssst,” he whispered, trying to catch Louis’ attention. Louis bit his bottom lip, desperately trying to keep the fond to a minimum. When he turned his head to the side, he saw Harry holding up the two same twigs he was holding when Louis had entered the shop.

 

“They’re called forget-me-nots,” Harry explained. “The legend tells the story of a knight and his lady who were walking by a river. In an attempt to be romantic, he decided to pick up these tiny flowers, but his armour was so heavy that he tumbled into river. Before the water could drag him away, he threw the posy at her feet and shouted at her, “forget me not”! And I guess she never did, because ladies started wearing them as they had become a sign of faithfulness.”

 

His voice was a low, serene rumble that sent tiny shockwaves through Louis’ body. Then he stuck out his arm, holding the posy in front of Louis.

 

“Will you forget me?” he asked, eyes big and honest.

 

His tone was so ridiculously _endearing_ that Louis just wanted to pull him on his lap and pinch his cheeks. Instead, he accepted the gift, only just to tuck it behind Harry’s ear.

 

“I’m a very faithful man, Styles,” he admitted, fingers accidentally brushing the shell of Harry’s ear as he put the flowers into place. “But I’m not an easy catch. If you don’t want to be forgotten, you need to give me a reason to remember you.”

 

Harry hummed, eyes never leaving Louis’ face. The attention got Louis burning and bursting all at once, but he’d mastered the art of poker faces and instead put his hands on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“You were right,” he finally said. “They do indeed match your jumper.”

 

“So, what do you think of the wedding bouquet?” Liam interrupted, clearly oblivious to the tension between both men. He held up the combination of white Bouvardia, pastel pink amaryllises and peach coloured roses, tied together with a silver lint.

 

“I think they match your eyes better,” Harry whispered against Louis ear, lips brushing his ear in a way that was _definitely_ not accidentally, before casually walking up to Liam and complimenting him on the bouquet. Louis was left like a fish on shore, mouth slightly agape. He could spot Gemma smirking at him from the corner of the room – knowingly.

 

Louis didn’t look at Harry for the rest of the day.

 

(That’s an absolute lie.)

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

 

Harry also decided to tag along when searching for a venue where they could hold the actual wedding. It was him who proposed the place, so it only made sense he’d be there with Jeremy and Louis (or so had Gemma insisted. Louis wondered what her real motives were).

It was too cold for the beach, too rainy for a garden party, too something for anything. Eventually they settled on a restaurant somewhere further up North, built on the ruins of a centuries old castle that used to belong to some arrogant landlord – who was, according to local stories, locked up in the basement of the castle by his son after he forbid him to marry a maid and had murdered said maid’s brother as a warning. It is in that dungeon that the lord was starved to death, and then left there to be eaten by the rats and basically anything else that felt welcomed enough to join. The new owner, some Irish lad, had turned that dungeon into a pool corner. (Bloody mental, he was.) Anyway, it was the particular story behind the castle that got Harry _really_ excited about it.

 

“Zayn went to eat there once with his ex-boyfriend,” Harry told Jeremy and Louis as they all sat together in the car. “The owner’s a great mate of his, bit mad, but he bakes the best pies in all of England. The garden is enormous, so if the weather’s a bit nice we can always move the party outside. If not, then there’s insanely big ballroom they usually only use for charity events. It’s the only time they don’t brag about the background story of the castle, because so many of these charity people are like, really superstitious and don’t want any bad energy and stuff. But!” He held up a finger at that, looking Louis straight in the eyes. “I did find it very fitting for Gemma’s birthday.”

 

“Why?” Jeremy wondered, looking at the two men on his backseat through his review mirror. “Do you want me to lock your dad up in the cellar as well?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Only in case he drinks too much champagne and wants to retell the story of how I went to my first day of primary school dressed in nothing but long john’s and a shell bra.”

 

Louis let out a sharp laugh, ducking back in his seat with his face in his collar to hide his amusement. Harry looked back at him, eyes big and sparkling, dimples caved deep into his cheeks.

 

“Please do explain,” Louis told him.

 

Harry just shook his heads slowly, lips slightly parted. He looked like he was about to say something, but decided against it eventually and went for a cocky eyebrow raise instead – a non-verbal “wouldn’t you like to know, huh”.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” he huffed, pretending his wonderful monologue hadn’t been interrupted, “I thought the symbolism behind it was quite meaningful. How love is supposed to exceed all standards and expectations forced upon us by any social structures, but also how love is about wanting the best for others, even if it isn’t always what we want. I like how they had their wedding while he was still rotting in his dungeon – I admit it’s a tad bit gruesome, but at the same time they decided to celebrate the happiest day of their lives there where the person who had been out to ruin their luck was close enough to hear every single second of it.”

 

Louis zoned out a bit. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about what Harry was saying, or that he wasn’t impressed by his sophisticated and thought through opinion on the venue, but it was just _really_ hard to focus when Harry licked those plump lips, or when he used his hands to accentuate certain words – his veiny, large hands. The bastard had even moved to the middle of the backseat, his knee half and inch away from Louis’, and Louis wondered if he could just kick Jeremy out and shove Harry against the window while straddling his lap, or if that would maybe cause a fatal car crash.

 

Harry bumped his knee against Louis’. “Hello?”

 

“Car crash, yeah,” Louis murmured, blinking rapidly as he snapped back to reality.

 

“What?” Harry’s eyebrow knitted together in confusion, his hands hanging in the air as if he hadn’t yet decided whether to touch Louis’ arm or not and had instead just left his hanging in the thick air between them.

 

“Nothing,” Louis brushed it off, turning his head to the window.

 

All Harry let out was a slightly confused hum. For the rest of the ride, he bopped his head up and down on the rhythm of the music as Jeremy and Louis discussed the guest list with Jeremy. Louis already had a list with the main 150 people, but now they were fitting in friends they hadn’t seen in years, or people who they didn’t like but still were obliged to invite. In the end, the guest list did not get much longer than 200 – something Jeremy was very happy about, since he’d preferred a small-scale and intimate wedding.

 

The gravel crunched under the car tires as they entered the domain. The driveway alone was over half a mile, stretching out in front of them as an open invitation to the castle that awaited them at the end. Everything past the metal gates seemed to be a setting from a fantasy film – the rich diversity in flower and plants, the artistic shapes the hedges were sculpted into, the wide and long fountain that had a white marble mermaid and merman raised onto a foot piece – a monument dedicated to the pair that killed the chatelaine.

 

The castle was the closest they could get to a replica of the original building which had been burned down at least three times. Eventually nothing but the dungeons and one tower had been left standing. You couldn’t really tell, though – the renovated parts were in the exact same brick shade and they had even accidentally eroded the façade to give it more of an “authentic” look.

 

“Oi, mates, ya made it!”

 

A skinny, beach blonde guy dressed in all white walked up to the trio with his arms spread wide open. He had a red apron thrown over one shoulder and a whisk sticking out of his pocket (this must be a joke). He was a bit chubby in the face, with a dimple in his chin and big baby blue eyes to match his spotless baby skin. The young man literally looked incapable of growing a beard – or judging by his naked arms, any kind of body hair.

 

 The front of his shirt was slightly stained dark red, which got Louis frowning a bit suspiciously.

 

Totally oblivious, the guy walked up to Jeremy and shook his hand with those of his.

 

“I’m Niall,” he introduced himself eagerly, smiling brightly at each and single one of them. The lad was all energy and happy vibes – which was quite a nice surprise, especially considering the horrible weather.

 

“I’m so happy to see ya lot here today, really,” he spoke as he shook Louis’ and Harry’s. Louis tried not to pay attention to the way even both of Niall’s tiny hands couldn’t cover Harry’s completely (he failed).

 

“C’mon,” he spoke, expecting for the three men to follow him. “We’ve got a lot to do today. I wasn’t expecting any guests for another half an hour, so don’t mind my appearance – I’m teaching the pups how to make perfect wine gravy, which is going, well…” He gestured to the stain on his chest, as if it was self-explanatory.

 

“Anyway,” he loudly announced, clapping his hands together as he halted in the door opening. “Who’s up for a tour around Horan’s Horny Tavern?”

 

Harry barked out a laugh, but immediately covered his mouth with one large hand as he raised the other as an apology. Even Louis couldn’t hide his amusement. Jeremy just frowned.

 

“It was the original name I’d had planned for the castle,” Niall confessed. “My wife didn’t like it that much, though. Said you British lot can’t appreciate Irish sarcasm and would just dry hump each other in the bathroom stalls. ‘S not exactly the image we were going for, but ya know, whatever floats ya boat, right?”

 

Louis looked to his side, locking eyes with Harry in a way of asking, “is this guy serious?”

 

Harry simply shrugged back at him.

 

The outside of castle had _nothing_ on the inside: the walls – which reached several meters high - were covered in square panels of Bordeaux mahogany, curling into a golden frame there where the wall reached the ceiling. An enormous fresco decorated said ceiling, and it appeared to simply continue in the following rooms – like a story with its pages scattered all over the house.

 

The door to their left – so Louis could see – lead to the dining area. It was your usual posh restaurant setting: tables dressed in white, chairs framed with gold, a huge fireplace and several chandeliers. Louis wasn’t impressed – it was a setting he’d seen many times before, but apparently that wasn’t what Niall was intending on showing them. The room got completely ignored because to their right, Niall opened two large doors that lead to a ballroom, one that Louis (despite his years as a wedding planner) had never come across like.

 

The creamy white walls were decorated by pillars in the form of angel statues every two meters. They seemed to be bending over, their wings spread apart widely with each angel’s feathery tip slightly touching the other’s. The ceiling wasn’t flat, but changed into a pyramid just above the wings of the angels. One enormous chandelier hung down from the centre of the room, about the size of three king sized beds and holding hundreds of candles. The floors were made of black marble, which formed a hallucinating contrast with the light walls and had Louis take a step inside with much caution.

 

“Fuck me,” Harry whispered beside him, utterly overwhelmed by the ballroom – just like the rest of them.

 

“I know right?” Niall grinned, clearly pleased with the perplex reaction of his visitors. “Pretty wicked, isn’t?”

 

“You could say that…” Jeremy swallowed.

 

Niall patted him on the back excitedly. “Ready to have ya big day here?”

 

Jeremy simply adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and stared back at Niall. “It’s perfect. Gemma’s going to love this so much.”

 

 Niall looked like he’d just won the lottery. “Anything to please the bride, right? We haven’t had a wedding here yet, but there’s a first for everything.”

 

Then, he scratched his cheek as if he was contemplating something, before saying:

 

“We’re actually working on an entirely new dish. Do you want to check it out? If you like it, we can serve it at the wedding?”

 

Jeremy seemed to be very happy with the offer, nodding back at Niall and already starting to move towards the kitchen. “Yeah, that’d be amazing!”

 

The two of them had apparently forgotten the other pair, and to be fair: even Louis had forgotten about himself as he gazed up the ceiling and admired the chandelier. If it came crashing down, Louis would be turned to gravy himself.

 

“It’s a very romantic setting, isn’t it?” a husky voice whispered into his ear. For a second, every body function halted – Louis couldn’t move, think, breathe. But then, Harry traced a finger from one shoulder, over the nape of Louis’ neck to the other shoulder – sending involuntary shivers down his spine as electricity shot through his veins.

 

“That’s the point,” Louis responded, a bit too sarcastically. He couldn’t think straight with Harry standing so close to him, so his defences shot up. “Weddings are supposed to be romantic, Styles.”

 

Harry walked past him and then spun around, surprising Louis with the elegance and control that marked his steps. Harry was tall and lanky, and Harry smiled goofily a lot, but as they faced each other, all Louis saw was serenity and confidence.

 

“Do you dance, mister Tomlinson?”

 

And – really? Was Harry honestly asking him to dance in the middle of the most magnificent ballroom he’d ever seen? Harry, the young man that hadn’t shaved in a few days and was now sporting a slight scruff; Harry, the only man Louis knew could make that coffee-coloured shirt with a black flower pattern and black skinnies look posh; Harry, the guy who’d been winding Louis up and making his heart beat like mad for the past few weeks, and was now looking at him with big bambi eyes.

 

“I only dance when there’s music,” Louis responded, quirking up an eyebrow challengingly as he slowly started to stride a circle around Harry.

 

Harry chuckled, placing one hand behind his back as he reached out for Louis’ with the other, slowly moving his body around so he’d continue to be facing Louis directly. Louis felt like the hands of a clock, but Harry was timeless.

 

“Let me sing to you, then.”

 

Louis halted, tilting his head to the side as if he was figuring out whether Harry was being serious or not, but Harry didn’t allow him any time to think. Instead, he walked up to the older man and touched his upper arm carefully, his fingers slowly sliding down until Louis’ hand was in his. Louis watched his movements as his hand was lifted and placed on the nape of Harry’s neck delicately. Then, Harry lowered his hand again so he could place it in the curve of Louis’ back. His fingers were spread, the touch burning through the fabric of Louis’ suit. Suddenly, Louis was jerked forward, his chest pressed against Harry’s firmly. He inhaled sharply, taken by surprise by how close they were standing, the only thing between their skins being two layers of fabric. Harry was drugging his senses again, clouding his mind with just one look. He appeared to be everywhere, filling up Louis’ pores with his scent and branding every inch of Louis he as much as laid a simple finger on.

 

Then, he linked their free hands, holding them up to their side as he took a slow stride backwards. Louis followed automatically, not wanting – or being able – to break their physical contact. When Harry bent over to place his lips against the shell of his ear, Louis bit the inside of his cheek to not make a single noise even though Harry’s hair was tickling his skin. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t break the spell that had been casted upon him by the magician with the mossy eyes (he didn’t want to, either).

 

A soft humming filled his ears and made Harry’s chest vibrate against Louis’. Louis recognised the familiar melody, but he couldn’t place it – didn’t recall who’d written it, or where he knew it from exactly. So instead, he just closed his eyes and let himself be guided. Gradually, the humming grew softer, their steps became larger and their movements bolder. There was no more need for music – nothing could move two bodies the way lust could.

                                                                                                                                

Harry moved like he was smoke – captivating enough to corrupt you from the inside out and get you addicted to his touch, his smell, his taste – yet light enough for you to realise he could slip through your fingers easily as you stood there and watched him dissolve.

 

Louis felt their bodies moving in sync – he could _sense_ whether Harry planned on stepping left or right or back, he could sense when he was about to be let go off just to end up curling in his arms again. Everything came so natural to both of them – from the way their feet stretched to the way they caressed each other’s curves and edges.

 

Somewhere in the middle of the ballroom, they slowly came to and end – forgetting how to move their bodies when all their energy was put into gazing at one another and maintaining their self-control. Expectation thickened the air and all Louis wanted to do was reach out and touch Harry’s face. He didn’t dare though – instead, he just let his hand slide down from the nape of Harry’s neck to his chest, fingers trailing his collarbone through the fabric.

 

“It was a privilege to dance with you, mister Styles.”

 

Louis said nothing – he just stared back at Harry, his pupils widely dilated and jet black. When Harry swallowed, he followed the bob of his adam’s apple carefully, attaching his eyes to that particular piece of skin as he felt his dance partner inch closer to his face, breath fanning his cheeks, his lips, the tip of his nose.

 

“Let me kiss you, Louis.”

 

The older man’s head snapped up, his mouth slightly agape because he was taken aback by those words. He wanted to – he wanted to kiss Harry so badly.

 

His body reacted faster than his mind did, and before he even realised it, he was already standing on the tip of his toes, pressing his open mouth against Harry’s forcefully, fingers digging into his hair. Harry didn’t need a single second to respond – he was just as eager, just as hungry. Their kiss was wet, it was filthy and hard and a true juxtaposition with their surroundings. Louis could feel Harry’s hands all over him, how they trailed up and down his back looking for something solid to hold on. Louis started losing his sense of time, started not thinking clearly. All there was to him – all that _mattered_ to him, was the guy he was pressed up against like they were about to be ripped apart forever so soon.

 

He hadn’t _completely_ lost his sanity, though.

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t –“

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry mumbled against Louis’ lips, hands sliding down over his shirt so he could cup his perfectly full and round bum. Harry’s mouth was everywhere – it wandered hungrily from lips to jawline to the skin of Louis’ neck. He lifted him up with ease, shoving him against the wall and placing his knee underneath Louis so he could slightly rest the boy on it as he unbuttoned his shirt completely.

 

The sight of newly exposed skin got him licking his lips, and Louis wanted to laugh but the sound got stuck in the back of his throat and came out like a moan instead. The noise bounced off the walls surprisingly loudly, forcing Louis to snap back to reality. Harry on the other hand, only seemed to be enjoying the obscenity of the situation, the possibility of someone walking in and seeing them all tangled up in each other.

 

“Not here,” Louis said, his lips brushing over Harry’s as he spoke those words quietly.

 

Harry attached their lips on more time, sucking on Louis’ tongue as if he wanted to savour the taste one more time before pulling back.

 

“Come,” he ordered, lowering the boy on his feet again so he could drag him behind him. Louis breathed heavily as he followed suit, praying to God no one would run into them because what a sight that would be: his shirt unbuttoned, his hair dishevelled, his dick hard and throbbing against the zipper of his trousers.

 

There was a staircase leading to the basement, which Harry thought was their best shot at privacy. They hurried down the stone steps, quietly giggling, holding hands so tightly their palms were sweaty and their fingers nearly started aching.

 

The hallway was dimly lit and unfamiliar territory, but Harry just dragged Louis deeper and deeper into the narrow hallway. When they finally turned around the corner, they entered a large room that was nearly completely empty, except for the pool table placed in the middle.

 

“Is this where the –“

 

Harry snickered. “Yeah.”

 

The menace.

 

Then, he turned around, crowding Louis with his hands on his hips. “Some pretty dirty things happened down here, you know.” His voice had gone back to a husky scratch. “Are you willing to add to that list?”

 

“I’m not a big fan of murder,” he casually mentioned, although he knew that wasn’t what Harry had in mind.

 

“I’m not planning on starving to death either, Louis,” Harry smiled, pressing their foreheads together. “But I’m really, really hungry right now.”

 

And oh – _oh._

“Are you now?” Louis hummed, bumping their noses together. The things he could do to him. “Just how hungry are you, then?”

 

Harry scrunched his nose, lunging forward to press their lips together as he picked Louis up once more and carried him to the pool table. Louis placed his hands behind him on the table so he could lean back, balancing himself with his thighs still tightly wrapped around Harry’s middle. The curly lad let go of him, using his hands to cup Louis through the fabric of his trousers before reaching up to unbutton them.

 

“I”ll show you,” he mumbled against Louis mouth, biting his bottom lip. “Let me fucking show you, Louis.”

 

There was something about the way he said his name, something about how clearly lust and craving could be heard in his tone that sent Louis over the edge. Louis bent forward again to kiss Harry harder, wanting Harry’s taste in the back of his mouth and his nails digging deep in Harry’s skin. Yet suddenly, Harry disappeared from his grasp, lowering himself onto his knees as he trailed a long line of kisses all over Louis’ chest. His experienced hands unbuttoned and unzipped Louis’ trousers in no time, before ticking Louis’ hips. The man immediately leaned back so he could shift his weight onto his hands and lift his hips, allowing Harry to strip him from both his trousers and boxers.

 

The second Harry pulled the waistband over his dick, Louis’ cock bounced back up, all flustered and hard. It was ridiculous how turned on he was already, but he couldn’t help it. Harry was the definition of sex on legs, and in that moment, he was seated between Louis’ thighs, gaping at his cock longingly. Louis was nearly a hundred percent sure that if Harry would just sit there and stare long enough, the sight of that man on his knees and his rosy cheeks would be enough to have Louis come.

 

Harry wouldn’t let him find out, though.

 

“So pretty,” he hummed, licking his lips before wrapping his arms around Louis’ thick thighs and pulling him closer to the edge of the pool table. He pressed tiny kisses against Louis’ inner thighs, tightening his grip when the man wiggled under his touch.

 

Then, he moved one hand to the base of Louis’ dick, licking up one long strip before taking the head in his mouth. Louis inhaled deeply through his gritted teeth, his bare chest rising. His eyes fluttering shut for a moment, only so he could open them widely when Harry took nearly his entire length in his mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Louis exhaled, looking down at the man between his legs. “Fuck.”

 

At first, Harry bopped his head up and down at a slow pace, often popping Louis’ dick out of his mouth so he could tease the tip with his tongue before taking it in again. He slowly went deeper and deeper though, bopping his head faster as he covered the rest of Louis’ dick with his large hand – moving it in synch with his mouth. The tension slowly started building up in Louis lower abdomen, heat shooting through Louis’ veins and making his fingertips tingle. The only thing breaking the silence in the room was Louis’ panting and the sucking noises that escaped Harry filthy mouth. So obscene, he was. So fucking pretty.

 

Louis prayed there wasn’t a dead ghost lurking on them. The land lord hadn’t sounded like the type of man who’d enjoy seeing two gays sucking each other off on a pool table. But Louis enjoyed it. He was on the fucking edge (literally. If he inched forward just a bit more, he’d slide off the table and straight into Harry’s lap. He’d sit in his lap later on, though. First, he wanted to fuck that dirty mouth of his as hard as he could.)

 

“Look at me,” Louis hissed, reaching out to tug at handful of Harry’s hair ‘til he finally obeyed and looked up. Harry’s eyes were entirely black, his lips puffy and slick with spit and come, and all in all it made Louis feel like his soul was being ripped out of his body. He let go of the curls so he could move the pad of his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, catching a bit of his spit. He put the finger in his own mouth, tasting the both of them, and apparently Harry was really into that. Without breaking eye contact, he licked up Louis’ dick once, twice, thrice – not blinking and a single eyebrow raised in suggestion. Not that there was much to suggest – Louis was nearly entirely naked in front of him. Harry had him where he wanted him, and Louis wanted more of Harry. The warmth of Harry’s tongue sliding up his cock got Louis seeing stars.

 

He got up again, nestling himself even deeper between Louis’ legs as he switched to a hand job, his thumb massaging the tip of Louis’ cock, enjoying the way it sent shivers through Louis’ body.

 

“You like that, don’t you?” he smirked, dipping his head low so he could attach their lips again. Louis moaned in response, pleased with how prominently he could taste himself on Harry’s tongue (maybe he was a bit narcissistic. It mostly had to do with how damn possessive he was, though. Sue him).

 

Harry’s hand had started to move faster and faster, and with his tongue in Louis’ mouth and his chest pressed against Louis’, Louis knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He kept buckling his hips up in a desperate attempt to get even closer to Harry, kept fucking Harry’s hand eagerly even though he could barely breathe from snogging. His hands were everywhere – under Harry’s shirt, in his hair, groping his front or grabbing his back. He kept exploring every curve there was like he was meant to map it.

 

“I’m, I’m –“

 

“I know,” Harry smiled into their kiss, his hand moving up and down furiously now. Then, he took a step back, wrist still flicking furiously. “Go ahead, baby.”

 

That was all Louis needed to shoot his load out, covering his own chest and the whole of Harry’s fist. He came, and he came hard, still fucking Harry’s hand as he rode out his orgasm with closed eyes. Once he opened them again, all he could see was fireworks, every single spark twinkling in Harry’s eyes. It was beautiful.

 

So he pouted, pulling Harry closer again at the hem of his shirt so he could kiss him again. And again. And again.

 

“They’re going to wonder where we went,” Harry pointed out, kissing Louis’ jaw slowly.

 

Louis palmed Harry through his jeans in response, as if it were to remind the boy they still had unfinished business.

 

“They can wait,” was all he said before Harry dug his teeth in the soft skin just above Louis’ collarbone.

 

“But it looks like you can’t.”

 

That place really should have been called Horan’s Horny Tavern.

 

 

 

(They didn’t return to the ballroom for another half hour. So naturally, no one was surprised when Louis showed up at the ceremony as not only the wedding planner, but also Harry’s date – fingers intertwined, both smiling widely.)


End file.
